


Shame Enough to Shame Thee

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Comfort, Consensual Non-Consent, Corporal Punishment, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Face Slapping, Groping, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Kilts, M/M, Military Kink, Mockery, Multi, Pouting, Sexual Roleplay, Strapping, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Gabriel's Creation's Best Lay, and everyone wants a turn.Filled for the kink meme prompt locatedhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 124





	1. Better Planning Solves All Your Problems

Crowley's tongue flickered out to taste the air between them appreciatively and Aziraphale knew that he had made an error with his cologne.

“Oh, that's L'amber de Carthage, isn't it? A little transatlantic for you, angel, but very nice indeed. Where shall I take you, if you're dressed so prettily?”

Before Aziraphale could stammer an excuse, Crowley's eyes narrowed.

“Wait. Waitwaitwait. It's not date night. You were headed upstairs for some...”'

He could see the moment the light bulb clicked over Crowley's head; the demon reeled back as if he had been shot, one hand over his heart, and his mouth open in disgust and disappointment.

“Oh, Satan's balls, you're going to go do _that_ _thing_!”

Aziraphale sighed, setting down his suitcase, all hopes of a discreet exit gone.

“Crowley, please, do not call the Archangel Gabriel a _thing,_ I'm sure it's not very kind.”

“Why shouldn't I?” asked Crowley indignantly. “Dagon came back last June just _raving_ about the filthy things she called him. If he doesn't mind being called a-”

“Yes, well, that's for intimate times,” Aziraphale insisted. “I mean you certainly wouldn't like it if I used some of the names you like in bed while we were on the street, would you?”

“Would,” Crowley said sullenly, throwing himself into the armchair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, yes, but it's hardly polite to others who have not consented to- Anyway, never mind that. Crowley, please. I have had this session booked since the first of the year.”

“Oh far be it from me to deny you any fun, angel,” hissed Crowley resentfully. “I'll just sit at home, watch the kiddies, and knit while I wait up for you, shall I?”

“Please stop calling the plants the kiddies, I've told you it makes me feel-

“Oddly complicit when I put them in the shredder, yeah, I know. Why d'you think I said it?”

Aziraphale gave him a rather wounded look, and Crowley sighed, the pique draining out of him to leave a melancholy that was actually a little worse.

“Dunno why 'm being such a little snot, angel. I'm sorry. You ought to go. I'll find some way to amuse myself while you... actually, what've you got planned today?”

“Little bit of commanding officer-disobedient subordinate role-play, hair-pulling, corporal punishment, angst and dubious consent,” Aziraphale said automatically, and then blushed. “You know. Nothing exceptional.”

“Ooh, that sounds _good,”_ Crowley said, eyes honeyed and mellow. “Yeah, I'll just stay home and have a good wank over that, Gabriel making you squawk... What's he using, a cane, or a belt, or...?”

“Well,” said Aziraphale with a smile that was only a little smug, “ _I_ was planning on using a tawse I had made up in Glasgow.”

Crowley's eyes got a little wider, and Aziraphale came to pet his hair, the penny dropping as he did so.

“Oh, you're only being so brattish because you missed your appointment a few weeks ago, aren't you, darling? I had forgotten.”

Demons would say they didn't pout, but Aziraphale was fairly sure that that was what Crowley was hiding in his shoulder.

“I had _stuff_ planned,” he grumbled. “No costumes or anything, but, you know. Just an old-fashioned good time.”

“Oh, my own, I'm so sorry.”

Aziraphale wavered, and then sighed, kissing Crowley on the top of his head.

“A moment, please.”

He went to the back of the shop, picked up the phone, dialed, and got a cheerful _hey, champ, ready for some non-con fun?_

A brief explanation followed, he listened, nodded, and then with a smile, returned to Crowley, who was watching him with a curious expression.

“Well, my dear, it turns out that Gabriel wouldn't mind taking us both on. He says he can find a uniform that will fit you quite easily, and he was sorry to miss you a few weeks ago as well.”

“Aw, really? He said that?”

“He did. Honestly, I _don't_ know why he can't be so pleasant and agreeable when we're working...”

“Nu-uh-uh-uh, we don't talk about work when we're doing that thing. 'S rules.”

This time, _that thing_ was uttered with a great deal more kindly, so Aziraphale let it slide, offering Crowley a hand up from the chair.

“Come on, darling. We can discuss where you fit into this scenario on our way up.”


	2. commanding officer-disobedient subordinate role-play, hair-pulling, corporal punishment, angst and dubious consent

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley could see Aziraphale, already in his uniform and idly swinging his sword in easy, lazy circles. He was the the very picture of a guardian made for war, and Crowley would have turned for a better look, but Gabriel kept him from it with a hand on his waist.

“Just another sec,” Gabriel said, and Crowley glanced down at Gabriel's hands at his side, buckling the kilt over his narrow hips with an ease born of long practice.

“Looks complicated,” he said dubiously. “Sure that's going to be all right for later?”

Gabriel patted the fastened buckle before tugging the edge of Crowley's jacket down over it and stepped back with a wink.

“Trust me, ace,” he said.”We'll be able to get to what we need.”

Crowley imagined that he should have felt at least a little abashed in Heaven's field uniform. He ought to have been thinking of another world where he had worn it and fought on the winning side of that terrible battle, or perhaps he should have been furious about what this uniform meant after a small eternity's worth of exile.

Instead it was just hot, and so were Aziraphale and Gabriel, decked out in the same.

“If you gentlemen are done?” inquired Aziraphale.

He sheathed his sword and approached them with an easy authority in his stride. It struck Crowley how different he looked already, back straight and a slightly arrogant tilt to his head. By his side, Gabriel came up to parade rest, and clumsily, Crowley tried to copy him. He couldn't help thinking that he was poorly suited for this uniform business. His jacket was already a little wrinkled, the kilt riding low on his hips, one button already undone at his throat.

Aziraphale gave them both a once-over and chuckled.

“What fine boys. Do you know your parts?”

They both nodded.

“And your words?”

“Orchid.”

“Armani.”

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley's heart beat faster at the anticipation in the angel's cool blue eyes.

“Well, then. Best we get started.”

Gabriel's quarters in Heaven were light and airy with a broad and open bay that looked out over all of creation below. Aziraphale walked to the edge of the bay and stepped over the edge, a flare of white wings carrying him out and away. He wouldn't be going far at all, and Gabriel had pointed out that there was a ledge just below where he could hear everything if he liked.   
Crowley turned to Gabriel to invite him to get started, but then suddenly he had his arms full of angel. He and Gabriel were exactly the same height, but Gabriel's powerful build made it easy for Crowley to feel overwhelmed now. Gabriel was careful not to trample him or to crush him, but the force of his pounce sent Crowley back a few steps, and he had to hang on to Gabriel's arms to stay steady. He let himself enjoy Gabriel's tight embrace and the way the slight stubble on his jaw scrapped pleasantly against Crowley's own cheek before he pulled back.

“Hey, have a care, you great lumbering thing,” he said indignantly, only half acting, and then he stared at Gabriel's abashed smile, glowing and just a touch shy.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gabriel said, “I've been on patrol for years, and I- I'm just happy to see you, that's all.”

Crowley shook off the dazzled astonishment that Gabriel could invoke with a real smile, and grinned. Neither of them had pulled away from the other, and Crowley left one hand on Gabriel's arm as he reached up to flick at Gabriel's nose with mock-scorn.

“What were you going to say before you decided that you were just happy to see me?” he asked with a smirk, and Gabriel laughed shaking his head.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

“Really, nothing?” he asked, warming to his role. “Sounded like something to me.”

“Nope. Just missed having you around.”

Crowley shook his head, pulling away from Gabriel entirely.

“Sure you did. Missed having someone to peck at about his uniform and pull into line, more like.”

“Can't blame me for that. Just look at you.”

Crowley went still as Gabriel's hands skimmed over the collar and buttons of his jacket, twitching everything into tidy order. He worked fast, but the part of Crowley that remembered that this was only a game grew warmer, watching those thick hands move so lightly over him.

“There,” Gabriel said, and now there was something warmer about his voice. “That's better. Now the lieutenant hasn't got any reason to get after you.”

“He's been a nightmare lately,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “After us for the least thing. Honestly, you've been lucky that you've been on patrol.”

Something shifted in Gabriel's eyes, and he reached over to fidget with the brass button at Crowley's throat. Crowley knew it was still perfectly neat – even he couldn't foul it up so quickly – but he didn't move.

“No, I haven't.”

Slowly, so slowly, Gabriel's fingers rose up from the button to the point of Crowley's chin, stroking gently before gliding whisper-soft along the line of Crowley's jaw. Crowley held his breath, letting Gabriel graze the sensitive skin behind his ear before he pulled away, shaking his head.

“No. Stop. We can't, you know we can't.”

He started to turn away, but Gabriel wrapped his arms around him from behind, propping his chin on Crowley's shoulder and hugging him tightly. Crowley knew that he could pull away, that Gabriel would let him. He didn't.

“I just _missed_ you,” Gabriel murmured, and Crowley felt something in him start to crumble.

“We can't,” he repeated, and the wavering note in his voice would have convinced exactly no one.

“What if we could?” asked Gabriel, his lips so close to Crowley's ear that Crowley shivered.

“Then... then we wouldn't be us, would we?” he asked. “We'd be totally other. Someone else and someone else, and it's foolish to think of it at all...”

He would have babbled forever, but Gabriel bent his head and kissed the side of his neck, light and soft and so longing it felt like a punch to the chest that someone like Gabriel could want someone like him. Crowley let out a long shaky breath, and Gabriel tugged down the stand collar of his jacket to kiss the skin just beneath.

“Turn around,” Gabriel said, a hint of pleading in his voice.

“I can't,” Crowley whispered, because he knew how this part of the game went.

“Yes, you can. Please.”

“I _can't...”_

Gabriel ruffled his fingers through Crowley's short hair, starting from the nape of his neck to his crown, and involuntarily Crowley tipped his head back, eyes closing at the shivery pleasure of it.

“Please?” asked Gabriel with heartbreaking softness. “Please. Please.”

Crowley was already shaking his head even as he pressed back against Gabriel's body, against the utter unyielding strength and bulk of it. He could feel Gabriel's cock (“non-standard for field dress,” Aziraphale had said, making Gabriel snicker) stir against his thigh, and he shook with need for more.

“We're going to get in trouble,” Crowley insisted. “Someone's going to come and see us ...”

“They won't,” insisted Gabriel, holding him even tighter. “No one will come, it's just the two of us here, I promise.”

“Someone will, they'll come, and-”

 _Take you away from me,_ he thought, falling more into the game than he intended to. Aziraphale had said that they separated angels caught fraternizing during the war, and something about that gut punch had stuck with him.

“They won' t, doll, I promise, okay? I promise, I would never let them...”

“You wouldn't have a choice, would you?” Crowley hissed. “And neither would I. I can't stand it...”

“How do you think I like it, seeing you and not being able to touch you?”

Crowley shuddered at the longing in Gabriel's voice. It was play, it was all for fun, but he was having a hard time remembering that now. Something in him – demon, tempter, just plain drama queen – _shook_ at the need in Gabriel's voice, the longing and desperation.

“You're touching me now, aren't you?” he asked softly.

“I want more.”

Crowley covered his eyes with one hand, unable to say no, never able to say no when Gabriel sounded like that. He leaned against Gabriel for a moment, and gave up, gave in.

“I'm not turning around,” he said, and Gabriel ran the edge of very sharp teeth along the side of Crowley's neck.

“All right.”

With casual strength, Gabriel pushed him up against the wall nearby, and Crowley was struck by the care he took not to jar him or to hurt him. It was just a firm press, and he was sandwiched with the cool plaster in front of him and Gabriel behind. He felt utterly covered, utterly sheltered and he closed his eyes as Gabriel mouthed the back of his neck.

“I'd never let anyone hurt you,” Gabriel breathed in his hear. “Not you. You're mine.”

“Not,” Crowley gasped, but then Gabriel reached down dragging up the hem of Crowley's kilt. The difference between being covered by the wool and exposed to the cool air was extraordinary, and that was before Gabriel pressed a warm palm against his thigh and slid up.

“You are,” Gabriel insisted. “Doll, you are, you know it, don't you? You want me too, right?”

When Crowley was still, Gabriel paused. When he started to pull back, however, Crowley reached back blindly and pressed Gabriel's hand down against his thigh again.

“Can't say it?” guessed Gabriel, and Crowley shook his head.

He couldn't. It would make it far too real, the needs that they weren't supposed to have. Gabriel might be able to say it, but he wasn't anywhere near as brave as Gabriel or as strong. He couldn't.

Gabriel ran his hand up his thigh to his bare hip, leaving Crowley even more exposed. His hips rocked against Crowley's rear, letting Crowley feel his length and his girth, and Crowley immediately miracled himself a cunt, because _oh, yes please._

When Gabriel's hand slid around his thigh, he made a pleased sound to discover Crowley's smooth slit, the soft lips there already a little damp.

“Oh, pretty, doll,” Gabriel whimpered. “You're always so _pretty._ Here, let me...”

Gabriel tugged Crowley's legs apart until he was standing braced, thighs apart, and then he left off just long enough to flip Crowley's kilt up to his waist. For a moment, Gabriel only fondled his rear, and then Crowley gasped as Gabriel's hand slid around his hip, closing gently between his legs, warm and gentle as sunlight. He waited until Crowley gave a tiny nod, and then he slid his fingers lower, stroking just the very edges of Crowley's lips until they were full and sensitive and slick.

Crowley gasped as Gabriel slid a finger inside him, his body clenching down on it in shock and pleasure. He tried instinctively to close his legs against the intrusion, but then Gabriel was kissing the back of his neck again, free hand going up to undo the buttons down the front of Crowley's jacket.

Soon enough,he had one hand slid inside the jacket and down Crowley's shirt, finding his nipple with unerring accuracy and pinching it to aching tightness as Crowley rocked on his single finger.  
“You're so tight,” Gabriel murmured in his ear. “Is it all right? Do you not –?”

“Keep going, I don't care,” Crowley gasped, as if he hadn't built himself small on purpose. He wanted to feel the stretch and the care that Gabriel would take with him, how careful the archangel could be.

It wasn't until Crowley made a needy sound that Gabriel started thrusting into him, one finger more than enough to drive Crowley half out of his head with desire. He was dripping down his own thighs with how much he wanted Gabriel, how much he needed to be wrapped around Gabriel's cock, to kiss him and to get as close to him as he could,

Still he clung to the wall, laying his hot cheek against the cool plaster as Gabriel touched him, unable to do much more than whimper and press back against Gabriel's hand as Gabriel kissed his neck. Then Gabriel bit him, sharp teeth over a tender spot he had lapped before, and Crowley gave up, just fucking _gave up._

Desperate and out of his mind, he spun around, grabbing Gabriel by the front of his jacket and dragging him forward. He caught a glimpse of Gabriel's red mouth and startled eyes, and then he was shoving his hands up Gabriel's own kilt, finding his cock and pumping it with greed. They were kissing, careless and wild, teeth and lips and tongue, devouring each other as if this was the last, the only time they would have and then-

“Well, well.”

The acid words made Crowley jerk, but Gabriel was faster, spinning around and shoving Crowley behind him and belatedly twitching his kilt down. Gabriel made a better wall than he did a window, but there was no mistaking the glimpse of pale hair that Crowley could catch over his shoulder.

“Sir!” Gabriel said, too loudly.

“Step aside, Gabriel.”

Gabriel wavered, and in a panic, Crowley felt the air go warmer and drier, as if the slightest spark could set it off. Their lieutenant had once been the Angel of the Eastern Gate, and in this world, which Crowley was fast losing track us as only pretend, he would never have given up his flaming sword.

Crowley gave Gabriel a quick shove aside, which only worked because Gabriel wasn't expecting it, and he found himself face to face with Aziraphale.

No matter how intense the game was, there was always a moment of pleasure when he saw Aziraphale. It was hard to help after six thousand years of hopefully keeping an eye out for the angel, but the smile stopped before it was properly started when he caught the ice in the angel's gaze.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale in tones of deep disgust. I should have known.”

Crowley abruptly realized that his kilt was twisted so the pleats stuck out from his hip, his jacket was half undone, and his cheeks were probably red as apples. He also didn't miss the hungry way Aziraphale looked at him, the lust that wasn't disguised completely by the disgust, and something in him shook, terrified.

“Why is it, Crowley, that whenever this unit has some incidence of concupiscence, you are the one I find at the bottom of it?

“Sir, it was my fault,” protested Gabriel. “It was, I was the one who-”

“When I need you to open your mouth, Gabriel I will ask you to do so, Until then, kindly keep it shut.”

While Aziraphale's attention was focused on Gabriel for a moment, Crowley took the moment to right his kilt, but when he reached for his jacket, Aziraphale's gaze snapped back to him.

“No,” he said sharply. “Leave it.”

Crowley's hands pulled back as if he had been burned, and Aziraphale came a little closer, the air of menace around him almost palpable.

“I asked you a question, Crowley,” he said. “Why do _you_ think I'm always catching you _fraternizing_ with your fellows soldiers? Why is it always _you_ that I find with your legs spread and your mouth open?”

If he hadn't been braced on his own two feet and pretending to be a soldier, Crowley would have crumpled straight into Aziraphale's arms for that bit of dirty talk, but he remembered the outline that Gabriel had given him before this little exercise. Respond when spoken to, call Aziraphale _sir,_ and act as if at any moment, Aziraphale could order him into a twenty-year solitary confinement.

(“Did... did that ever _happen?”_

A pause.

“We're here to have fun today, champ.”)

“I don't... I don't know, sir,” he stammered, and Aziraphale narrowed his eyes.

“Speak up,” he said. “You don't know _what?”_

Crowley swallowed, making a desperate bid for calm that was suddenly very far away. His stomach turned over, and heat, a different kind than before, prickled across his face and his throat.

“I don't know why I am always the one you find with my legs spread and my mouth open, sir.”

“Why don't you speculate for me, Crowley? Use those blessed wits of yours for something besides making nasty little jokes to your friends.”

“I suppose... I...”

Aziraphale took a threatening step closer, and Crowley remembered with a heated pulse between his legs how he and Aziraphale played bullying scenes at home, the ones that got him off like a rocket.

“I'm a slut, sir,” he said in a rush. “I tempted them. I teased them. I spread my legs for them the moment they want me, and they know that. I'm easy. I'll take anyone who –“

A stunning slap caught him on the left side of the face, not enough to send him sprawling, but enough to turn his head and make his skin ring. He stifled a cry, but he couldn't stop tears from filling his eyes, at the pain, at the humiliation, at the sheer _unfairness_ of it, which was largely the foundation this entire experience was built on.

“There is a difference between giving an explanation and spewing filth,” Aziraphale said coldly, and he seized Crowley by the hair, dragging him forward so he stumbled. “Maybe you need a lesson with the hilt of my sword in your mouth. Would that shut you up? Come to think of it, would that same treatment work elsewhere, teach you what is and is not proper behavior for a soldier of Heaven?”

On the last word, Aziraphale slapped him again and again and again, less hard but faster. A part of Crowley knew that Aziraphale hadn't lost control, never would, but another part, the part that was getting his face slapped raw panicked. The pain was mounting, his lieutenant was furious, and he couldn't stop him, couldn't do anything, because laying hands on a superior officer wasn't allowed, he'd be put in a fucking hole for-

“Sir!”

Gabriel's voice, slightly hoarse, cut through the scene like an ax. Aziraphale seemed to remember himself, letting go of Crowley's hair and taking a step back. Crowley straightened hurriedly, and felt a pathetic gratitude that the lieutenant was now looking at Gabriel.

“You have something to say, Gabriel?”

“Yes, sir,” said Gabriel, his voice admirably calm. “Crowley and I are equally responsible for our disgraceful behavior. We should take an equal punishment.”

Crowley's breath felt too loud in his ears as he tried to calm himself, realizing belatedly what Gabriel was doing. A punishment would end this. Aziraphale might be able to drag this part out as long as he liked, to keep them standing there for humiliation after humiliation. No matter how bad the punishment was, and Crowley knew that it would be bad, at least it would end.

Aziraphale gave Gabriel a long look, and then nodded once.

“Quite right, Gabriel. We all have duties we ought to be attending to, and the sooner this is dealt with, the more quickly we can all get back to them.”

He paused, and Crowley, his face still stinging, his scalp still store from Aziraphale's merciless grasp, felt his commanding officer's gaze rove up and down his body. Why was Aziraphale always looking at him like that? He could take the disgust, he could take the contempt, but this made his skin crawl.

“Fine,” Aziraphale said abruptly. “A fucking and belting. One for each of you. Choose.”

Crowley started to shake, taking in Aziraphale's slight smirk, the way he could almost feel those hands back in his hair, shoving his kilt up, kicking his legs open.

He _couldn't._ He had... he had teased the other soldiers, played games that felt silly now, hands and mouths, but nothing more, not ever. There was only one person he wanted to do that with, and he threw a horrified glance at Gabriel, who wasn't even looking at him.

 _He'll hate me after this,_ he thought with desperate misery. Crowley was under no illusions that their lieutenant would offer either of them anything like privacy, certainly not mercy. Gabriel would see him crying and writhing on the lieutenant's cock, and Gabriel would never ever forget it, would hate him, would think he _liked_ it because –

“I'll take the fucking, sir,” Gabriel said calmly, and Crowley's heart stopped.

He could only stare at Gabriel, and Aziraphale turned to look at him as well, as if a particularly apt dog had learned a new trick while he wasn't looking. Crowley felt again that relief that the lieutenant wasn't looking at him like that, and he hated himself just a little more.

“Will you, now?” Aziraphale said softly.

“Yes, sir.”

“And, you, do you agree as well? If he gets my cock, you're going to get my belt.”

Crowley stammered for a moment, because he knew he couldn't let Gabriel do this. Gabriel hadn't even played the little games he had, kept himself apart from them even when invited. He was too big for anyone to bully, and so he got his own way, and the only thing he wanted, the only thing he had _ever_ wanted...

 _Was to keep me safe,_ Crowley thought with a terrible ache in his chest.

“Yes, sir,” Crowley whispered. “I'll take the belt.”

For once, Aziraphale didn't make him say it louder, and he nodded.

“Fine. Let's get this over with, shall we?”

He directed them towards a sturdy table that Crowley decided to believe had always been there, and paused for a moment, his gaze drifting between them before gesturing Crowley over it first.

“Gabriel, on the other side.”

“Sir?”

“Hold his hands. I highly doubt he'll be able to keep still otherwise.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel said, and he came around to pin Crowley's wrists to the hard wood.

“Sorry,” he whispered, so soft that Aziraphale probably couldn't hear, and Crowley shook his head. There was nothing for Gabriel to be sorry for, and as Aziraphale flipped his kilt up, baring him from the waist down to his hose, Crowley tried to find a way to let him know.

 _I'll tell him later,_ Crowley thought hopefully, and then he thought of what would be happening after his ordeal and knew that _later_ might be very different indeed.

Aziraphale came to stand to Crowley's right, and Crowley gasped as his lieutenant reached down to squeeze first one cheek and then other, grabbing onto the flesh and digging his fingers in hard. He repeated the gesture several times until Crowley was shaking and sweating slightly, the automatic cries caught between his teeth and his eyes shut tight.

“Wouldn't want you to take it cold,” Aziraphale said mockingly. “You cry so when that happens, don't you?”

Crowley knew he _would_ cry. He always would, and scream as well, but he didn't even feel too bad about it. The lieutenant's belt was a strap two feet in length with a slit down a third of the finished end. It was made of leather that was nearly as thick as Crowley's smallest finger, and Aziraphale swung it hard enough that the split could grab and tear skin.

Aziraphale continued mauling Crowley's flesh before grabbing it so hard that one knee buckled. The lieutenant made an irritated sound, landing a hard slap over the affected area.

“Stay in position,” he said, “or shall I have your ankles bound too?”

“No, sir,” Crowley said, bracing himself against the table and planting his feet. “I'll do better.”

“See to it,” Aziraphale said crisply, and Crowley drew in a silent breath as he felt the thick belt measured lightly across his rear.

“Should have taken the fucking,” Aziraphale told him, and with a cat-quick move, he cocked his arm back and brought the strap snapping down across Crowley's flesh.

 _Better than on cold flesh, better than on cold flesh,_ Crowley had been chanting to himself until that first strike, and then a searing pain smashed into his body and he yelled because no, there was trying to be stoic in the face of that kind of hurt. The lieutenant wasn't after anything like measured discipline, and all three of them knew it.

Somehow, Crowley had stayed in position after that first stroke, and he shivered as if in a fever, head down and squeezing his eyes shut against the tears. He could hear his own panting breaths, the thud of his heart, and underneath it, Gabriel's soft voice, shushing him so softly that Aziraphale surely couldn't hear.

“Crowley, are you ready for the next?” asked Aziraphale impatiently.

“Yes, sir.”

“Finally.”

The word was barely out of Aziraphale's mouth before the strap came down again, just as hard if not harder and Crowley screamed again, certain, certain that it had already split his skin, that he would feel a trickle of blood when he reached his hands back. He couldn't keep from trying to cover himself with his hands any more than he could help the color of his hair, but of course he couldn't move them, not with Gabriel holding his wrists.

He uttered a soft whining sound as the bright hurt pulled back to leave a deeper soreness. He'd be sitting on bruises rather than on flesh for weeks, he reckoned, and he bit his lip.

He was just wondering if Aziraphale would ask if he was ready again when the strap smashed down, and he howled,. This time, he would have thrust himself back and likely earned another two or three for good measure if Gabriel hadn't pressed down hard on his wrists.

“Stop, stop, it's all right, you're all right, you're all right...”

Crowley thought it was just in his head, something he repeated over and over again to comfort himself as his punishment went on, but now it was Gabriel, bent so his head was just a little higher than Crowley's, Gabriel who looked as if he might cry.

 _Gabriel doesn't cry,_ Crowley thought, perplexed, gazing up into Gabriel's incredibly violet eyes, and then he lost the plot again as the strap struck already bruised and traumatized flesh.

“Leg down,” Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley hadn't realized he had kicked, and he straightened a little, resuming his position.

 _He'll tie me down if he has to,_ Crowley told himself. _Don't let him, don't let him..._

He didn't realize that he had said it out loud until Gabriel shuddered.

“I'm sorry,” Gabriel whispered, his voice thick. “I can't, Crowley, I'm so sorry...”

“Likely not as sorry as you are going to be, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale, and the strap licked down again, two blows, so fast that Crowley's brain insisted that they were one. This time, Gabriel had to catch his wrists in one hand, reaching back to press down between his shoulders to stop him from rising. He would have if he could, would have gotten himself lashed down and forced to take more, but Gabriel was there, and he buried his face in Gabriel's jacket, shuddering, hiding, his face wet and burning with shame.

Gabriel's hand shifted from his shoulders to the back of his head, holding him for one desperate moment before pulling away.

“It's fine, it's fine, it's all right,” Gabriel murmured, but it no longer sounded as if he quite believed it himself. When Crowley pulled back to look at him, Gabriel looked dazed, almost overwhelmed, and Crowley's heart seized with fear. He didn't bother looking over his shoulder, instead dropping back down into position and after a moment, Gabriel did the same.

“You two are ridiculous,” Aziraphale said almost affectionately. “But let's get on with this, shall we? Three more. I'll be fast.”

The tears welled up because that would hurt _so badly_ , and then Gabriel was leaning down to kiss him, his mouth covering Crowley's with a desperation that tore at his heart. Crowley shut his eyes, losing himself in the kiss as much as he could before the belt cut through the air with a stomach-churning whine.

Aziraphale was as good as his word, the three blows falling so fast that they couldn't be as hard as they had been, but it was hard enough. The blows forced Crowley's hips against the table, and he freed his hands only to bury them in Gabriel's jacket, hanging on for dear life as he moaned into Gabriel's mouth.

The pain was so intense that for several long moments,he didn't think that it was properly over. His skin felt as if it were on fire, his legs trembled, and the only thing that mattered was that he was kissing Gabriel as if his life depended on it.

Finally, Gabriel pulled away for breath, and behind him, Aziraphale flicked Crowley's kilt down with a disdainful snort.

“Dramatic, the pair of you. Get up, Crowley, I'm not done yet.”

Crowley was somewhat startled to find that the lieutenant hadn't broken skin, but even the touch of the heavy wool over his hellishly hot flesh made him catch his breath. For a moment, he thought his knees would buckle, but then he steadied himself somewhat and stood straight.

“Gabriel.”

Gabriel's face was as still as stone as he came around the edge of the table. Crowley, stepping reluctantly aside, tried to catch his eye, to find some way to tell him that this was nothing, none of this mattered, not to him, not at all.

Instead of telling Gabriel to bend over immediately, Aziraphale stepped closer, studying his face and his body.

“Your service has been quite exemplary,” Aziraphale said, almost to himself. “It's a shame that you had to foul it up by getting tangled in this mess.”

Crowley winced because there was no escaping whose mess the lieutenant meant.

“I'll have to remember, too, how very good-looking you are,” Aziraphale said absently. “I know plenty of officers who would like your looks.”

Gabriel didn't move, but it seemed as if he shrank in on himself a little. It was apparently the reaction that Aziraphale had been waiting for because he nodded with a slight smile on his face.

“Bend over that desk,” he said. “Pull your kilt up for me.”

“Yes, sir,” and Crowley winced at the dead tone in Gabriel's voice that couldn't completely hide the flutter of panic.

 _After this, I'll give him whatever he wants,_ Crowley thought. _I'll let him tear me to pieces if he wants, I'll let him_ fuck _me to pieces if that would make him feel better..._

He jumped when Aziraphale thrust a small squat jar at him. He barely grabbed it before it slipped to shatter on the ground, and when he figured out what he was, he looked up in dawning horror.

“Get him ready,” Aziraphale said, a coolly amused glint in his eye. “I'm sure you know how.”

“Sir...Sir, I _can't.”_

It was too close to things he had imagined late at night in his bunk, things he imagined while touching himself. Those shaded late night fantasies were worn thin from overuse, and he couldn't stand to paint over them with what Aziraphale was proposing.

He stood ready to take whatever punishment he needed to take for his refusal, even if it meant taking more of the belt, even if it meant taking Gabriel's place, but Aziraphale only shrugged.

“Then I suppose you want me to fuck him dry.”

Crowley froze, and Gabriel made a thin sound of protest, the first indication that he had been listening to them at all. Crowley heard terror in that sound and resignation as well.

“No, sir,” he said, speaking as clearly and as calmly as he could. “Please...”

“Please _what,_ Crowley?”

Crowley took a deep breath.

“Please let me prepare Gabriel for your cock, sir.”

Apparently mollified, Aziraphale stepped back and gestured to where Gabriel waited, bent over and neatly presented. His kilt was hiked up as Crowley's had been, revealing him bare from his waist down the hose at his knees.

 _Did I look so very naked?_ Crowley wondered, and he had to assume he had, and even more vulnerable. He had shaken like a leaf, but only the barest tremor ran through Gabriel's body. He came close, painfully aware of Aziraphale's eyes on his back, of how stiffly he was still moving after his belting. Timidly, he laid his hand on the small of Gabriel's back, making Gabriel flinch before steadying himself again.

“It's all right,” Gabriel said, his words little more than a breath. “It's _fine.”_

The fact that Gabriel was trying to comfort _him_ in this terrible position broke Crowley's heart, so, he told himself there was nothing left to ache or to tear as he got the fuck on with it.

 _Soonest begun is soonest done,_ he could hear the lieutenant tell him briskly, and he straightened up, unscrewing the lid on the jar.

There was no odor at all. The gel was clear and colorless, and when Crowley dug his fingers into it, it gave him a brief flashback to working on the engines they used to calibrate the stars before launch. Machines, he could _do_ machines, but when he turned to the task at hand, he remembered that Gabriel was no such thing.

No, Gabriel was flesh and blood, no matter how still he stood, and when Crowley pressed some of the slick between his legs, massaging his tight hole, Gabriel's head dropped down between his arms and he _shook._

Crowley almost drew back, but he realized that he couldn't stand to have Gabriel tell him it was all right a second time. Gabriel had held him without a single complaint when he was getting belted; he could do this.

Crowley at least knew how to do this part. He stroked gently at Gabriel's closed flesh, just pressing a fingertip against him at first, only pressing deeper when he thought he was sufficiently warmed. It wasn't willing, but it was better than nothing, and he watched in fascination as the Gabriel braced himself against the intrusion. He took one finger quietly, and when Crowley started to push in a second, Gabriel gasped, the sound loud enough to make both of them flinch.

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale sounded impatient, and Crowley pressed the second finger in faster than he wanted to, undoing all his hard work as Gabriel tensed around him again.

 _How would that feel around your cock,_ hissed a traitorous little voice. _What if the lieutenant told you to fuck him?_

Crowley worked his fingers faster into Gabriel's body, free hand on the small of Gabriel's back, stroking the smooth fabric of his jacket mindlessly.

 _I'd be so nice to you,_ he thought desperately. _It wouldn't be like this, I'd have you on your back, I'd take you in my mouth..._

“All right, that's enough.”

Crowley jumped, his fingers going deeper than they had, and Gabriel clenched down on him hopelessly tight.

“Sir! It's not,” Crowley protested, but then a hand on his shoulder dragged him back and to one side as Aziraphale threw a towel at him for his hands.

“Your opinion was not asked for or wanted, Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “Leave or stay, I don't care, but I have Gabriel to see to.”

He gave Crowley a coolly amused look.

“Though given the fact that it is _your fault_ that all of this is happening, I would think you might want to stay and see the consequences.”

Crowley drew his breath at that, wide-eyed, helpless and helplessly turned on at the sheer guilt and pain of it all, but Aziraphale was turning away, lifting his kilt with one hand while cupping Gabriel's rear with the other.

“I really will have to recommend you to my friends, Gabriel,” he said almost conversationally. “Who knew that you would look so very good like this?”

“Yes, sir,” said Gabriel, still steady, but Crowley knew that wouldn't last for much longer.

“Oh, just perfect,” said Aziraphale, and as Crowley watched, he opened Gabriel and entered him with one hard thrust. It wrung a deep groan from Gabriel, and Crowley couldn't stand to watch. Instead he came around the table to where Gabriel had stood before, dropping down on his elbows on the wood to be at eye-level.

Gabriel was flushed, his mouth open, wincing from Aziraphale's punishing thrusts, but he lifted his head when Crowley touched his cheek.

“Stay,” he said, and there was a breathy plea there, one that Crowley could never, ever deny him.

It was awkward, and he knew that everything he was doing was caught by Aziraphale's sharp blue eyes, but he managed to wrap one arm around Gabriel's shoulders, holding him steady as he was fucked without mercy or care.

“You feel good, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale, only slightly out of breath. “Have you been playing more games with Crowley than I knew?”

Gabriel groaned out loud at that, and Crowley wished with all his heart that they had, that this wouldn't be what Gabriel thought about when he thought about sex.

 _Should have let him have whatever he wanted,_ Crowley thought wildly. _Should never have said no to him._

He couldn't change the past – not here, not in the real world, stop _thinking_ about it, Crowley – so he kissed Gabriel instead, kissed him as if they were alone, as if his own rear wasn't welted to Hell and back, as if Gabriel wasn't getting fucked by someone they both cordially hated.

For a moment, Gabriel was stiff under his lips, and then he was kissing him back with a kind of desperation that lit Crowley on fire. Crowley couldn't tell if the tears he could feel were his or not, but none of it, absolutely none of it mattered except for Gabriel, who loved him, who wanted nothing more to protect him, who was getting hurt _because of him..._

Crowley lost all track of time as he kissed Gabriel, hands tangled in Gabriel's thick dark hair, and his mouth absolutely devouring Gabriel's.

“Don't think about him, think about me,” he whispered. “I'll take you to bed, I'll kiss you anywhere you want, I'll let you have me any way you like...”

Gabriel made a soft noise of assent, almost a sigh, and Crowley clung to him all the harder because nothing else mattered but the angel in his arms.

Aziraphale growled as he came, making Gabriel flinch at that final deep thrust that filled him. Crowley, hand still on the nape of Gabriel's neck, stood to see Aziraphale draw back to clean himself, flipping Gabriel's kilt down as he did so.

“Dismissed,” he said easily, and Crowley knuckled away the last tears in his eyes to grin at him.

“You are a nasty little angel once you get a bit of power, you know that?”

“You were the one who wanted to come today,” Aziraphale said, unperturbed. “But Gabriel, darling, how are you?”

“Mmm,” said Gabriel, stirring a little on the table but not really moving anywhere fast. “Good. Crowley's right, though. You are kinda mean.”

“I most certainly am not,” Aziraphale said primly. “Come on, let's get you up, you're going to get quite the ache if you stay bent over like that too long.”

Between Crowley and Aziraphale, they got Gabriel seated on the table instead of bent over it. Crowley wasn't in any condition to be sitting for a bit, but Gabriel latched on to him, wrapping his arms around Crowley's slender frame and drawing him to stand between his spread knees. Crowley couldn't help grinning as Gabriel nuzzled the back of his neck, almost sleepily.

“How are you feeling, Gabriel?” he asked softly.

“Good. Horny. Didn't get to come. Neither did you.”

Aziraphale made a humming noise.

“I had something planned for Gabriel, but then we restructured everything when you came along, Crowley...”

“Oh sure, blame me, and not your love of _narrative continuity,_ ” said Crowley with a roll of his eyes. “Listen, angel, I am never going to be the reason that people don't get to orgasm if that's what they like. We are clever ageless beings of cosmic energy, we can _figure it out.”_

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but then Gabriel reached out and without even looking, wrapped his hand around Aziraphale's wrist to drag him forward.

“Lieutenant,” he said, his voice only a little shaky. “I think you owe Crowley an apology.”

“ _Do_ I?” asked Aziraphale, and Crowley giggled a little at the way Aziraphale's eyes went wide and a pretty pink blush stained his cheeks. Like a Dresden china shepherdess, he thought lovingly.

“Yeah, you do,” Gabriel said. “Get on your knees.”

Crowley whimpered at the stern note in Gabriel's voice and how Aziraphale slowly lowered himself to the ground. Gabriel turned to kiss the side of Crowley's neck.

“What do you want to be, sport?” asked Gabriel cheerfully. “Victim or accomplice?”

Crowley rolled the question over in his head, looking down at Aziraphale and leaning back against the solid wall of Gabriel's chest.

“Oh, what a question _,”_ he breathed, but it really wasn't. He was fairly predictable in this one aspect of his life, and with these two, he didn't care if they knew it.

“Victim,” Crowley said, and he gasped as Gabriel dragged him up against his chest, grabbing him underneath both knees and spreading them wide. In a moment, he was settled on Gabriel's lap, legs to either side of Gabriel's thighs and his welted ass pressed firmly against Gabriel's erection.

“Lieutenant,” said Gabriel earnestly. “I think you should start showing Crowley how sorry you are for what you did to him with that damn belt.”

Aziraphale leaned in, licking his lips and pressed Crowley's legs even farther apart. Crowley shook as warm fingers spread his wet cunt lovingly.

“I'm ever so sorry, Crowley,” he purred and leaned in to lick.


End file.
